


Blooming Love

by Breadyboyo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Movie: IT (2017), Panic Attacks, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breadyboyo/pseuds/Breadyboyo
Summary: Richie doesn't take notice of the uncomfortable way his lungs squeezed his breath away until he's heaving flowers into the toilet bowl.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	1. Flower Start

Richie was gagging and retching - throwing up a plethora of flower petals. Pink camellias, red roses, and blue salvias were sprawled across the bathroom floor.

He doesn’t know why he started heaving flowers. The first time he felt pressure against his chest and a small squeeze in his lungs, he brushed it off. The second time it happened, he brought it up to his parents who chalked it up to a simple cold and nothing else. And now, after the third time, he’s finally seen what exactly has been causing these weird chest pains: 

Flowers. A great deal of them, he suspects.

Wiping some leftover petals off his lips, he goes to leave the bathroom and returns to class. He’s met with a curious glance from Stan and a worried look from Bill, but nothing else. Taking a seat and opening his textbook, he makes a mental note to visit the library today.

*

When Richie hears the familiar jingle reverberate throughout the school, he packs up and walks towards the bike racks outside, not bothering to send his friends a quick goodbye before doing so. Seating himself on his bike and placing his foot on the pedals, he cycles away - the hot summer air and the bright glare from the sun irritating him as it always does.

Stepping on the brakes as the building comes into view, the wheel skids on the rough road as he ceases movement. He haphazardly gets off and lets his bike fall down to the sidewalk nonchalantly. When he steps in, he’s met with rows of shelves compact with hundreds, if not thousands of books. Scanning the room - he spots a person who he presumes might be the librarian and trudges over. 

“Um, could you tell me where the medical section is?” Richie asks the woman behind the counter.

Looking up from her book, she grunts and points to a corner in the library before returning to her book. Ignoring the somewhat cold response, he goes to check the section. Skimming past all the books on the shelf packed all about diseases, he finally finds what he’s looking for.

Lung and Respiratory Diseases

Flipping through the first few pages, he stops at the list of diseases starting with F. He thumbs over the list - stopping at one of them.

**Flower Disease**

_Flower Disease (or Hanahaki Disease) is a disease that mainly affects the lung area. When a person with a case of Flower Disease suffers from unrequited (one-sided) love, flowers will start growing from a stem, slowly filling the lung and discharging the fully grown flowers out the pharynx, causing the victim to heave them out. If the enamored person does not have their love reciprocated, the stem will keep growing until it clogs the lung, causing fatal breathing problems and death. The time for the disease to fully grow and impair the lung depends slightly on the victim’s emotions state, but most people that reject the surgery have a month or two before the illness finally claims their lives._

_There have only been two recorded procedures to cure someone that has Flower Disease. The first one is for the person the victim is enamored of - to return their love._

_The second is through intensive surgery. Though the approach by surgery will remove the flower and stem from the victim’s lung, it will also take the love (and in worst cases, the memory) of their loved one with it._

Realizing the entry ends there, he closes the book and slowly slides it back into the shelf. He sits there for a while, face looking defeated. Getting up, he trudges towards the exit door, a feeling of slight hopelessness lingering in the air around him - suffocating. That’s when he feels a sort of itch at the back of his throat. He hacks and wheezes, the sound echoing through the library before someone sends an annoyed ‘shh’ at him. He exits the building with haste in his step, finding an alley around the corner. Continuing his coughing fit, he feels something slithering up his throat.

Begonias start spewing from his mouth on to the dirty, sticky alley floor. Slinking down on the ground, he feels his eyes start to sting.

Having ejected every single flower out of his lung, he wipes the tears that have accumulated in his eyes and stands up - feeling weak and tired. Plodding towards his bike, he gets on and cycles back home - wanting to forget everything that’s happened today.

*

It didn’t take long for his parents to notice. He wondered what tipped them off. Maybe it was how his coughing fit lasted for a second longer than it should. Maybe it was how he could be heard late at night, retching in the bathroom. Maybe it was how their toilet was overflown with purple hyacinths.

_“Just tell her, son.”_

_“Stop being so shy, I’m sure she likes you.”_

_“Do you really want to forget her, son? It’d be a lot easier to just tell her.”_

_“Just tell her!”_

He was exhausted, fatigued, and irritated at how much his parent irked him that he couldn’t be bothered to tell them that it’s a he. But then again, if he does say it’s a he, there’s a 90% chance he’ll get disowned.

He knows how urgent his situation is. If he doesn’t tell Eddie, he’ll die. But he can’t do it. Eddie isn’t gross like you. If you tell him, he’ll be disgusted. He won’t hang out with you anymore. If any of the losers found out, they won’t hang out with you anymore. A voice reminded him constantly. No matter how much he tried to tune it out; it would stay - a deafeningly quiet and persistent buzz in the back of his mind.

So he bears it. He bears the incessant voice in his head. He bears the flowers that he seemed to vomit with no end. He bears the unrelenting harassment that spews from his parents, and he bears the feeling of despair rooted deeply in his heart. He does so until the weight of everything is too much for him, and he caves in - right in front of his closest friend.

“Richie!” Stan rushes over to catch his friend as he collapses. He barely reaches him. “What the hell, Rich?”

He isn’t able to respond as he pushes Stan away with an ‘oomph’. He kneels on both legs, as he looks down, hands making contact with the rough and dirty sidewalk. He starts hacking and wheezing - the scruff and ragged sound scaring Stan. He continues to cough and cough until he feels something come up his throat. He barfs gardenias all over the sidewalk as his eyes start to sting with tears.

When his lungs are emptied and there are no more flowers to be heaved, he leans against a lamp post and sobs into his hands. Stan is quick to console him - rubbing circles onto his friend’s back. After a while of this, Stan finally breaks the silence with an expected yet painful question.

“Richie… Who is it?”

He doesn’t want to say. He can’t say. What if Stan thought he was disgusting? Would he never talk to Richie ever again? Would his best friend leave him to be all alone? The thought is nauseating, more so than all the throwing up he’s done. So he stays silent, his quiet whimpers and his ragged breathing the only noise that can be heard.

Stan holds the quaking teen in a soothing clasp. “It’s okay, Rich. Just tell me who it is. I promise I won’t get mad.” He conveys to the boy, taking care to utilize a soft tone. There’s a bit of shifting before the boy feels a nodding gesture against his chest.

“Promise you won’t hate me?” Richie offers his pinky. It’s childish - he’s aware - but at that moment, he couldn’t give a care.

“Promise.” He says in a light-hearted tone, intertwining his pinkie with the boy’s.

A gulp slinks down his throat as his hands get slick with sweat. “I-It’s Eddie, Stan. I’m in love with Eddie.” Richie says, guilt etched in his face. 

He expects to see his friend’s face contort into something of disgust. He expects to see insults to be thrown from his best friend. He expects him to leave Richie on the cold sidewalk, not wanting to associate with such a freak. He expects so many things, but all he gets is a solemn expression on his friend’s face before he feels his two arms pulling him into a warm, protective embrace.

“S-Stan?” Richie stutters out, surprised at the reaction he garnered.

The only response he gets from his friend is a tighter hug. “It’s ok, Richie. You’re ok.” Stan whispers.

And for once, he feels some weight against his chest lift. Tears start forming in the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t care - he lets them flow. The liquid starts staining his friend’s shirt, and he feels shame. Stan assures he’s fine by coaxing his fingers through the crying boy’s hair.  
They stay tangled with each other for a while, the embrace lasting for a second longer than he thinks is normal for friends, but he doesn’t care. Stan continues to rub circles into the shaky boy’s back and Richie continuing to cry tears of relief. When the sun starts to set, they untangle themselves from each other. Richie fixes his glasses before standing up, the fatigue causing his movements to be sluggish. 

“Thanks, Stanley. I could always rely on you.” Richie says, beaming.

“Of course, Trashmouth. Anything for a friend.” Stan grins.

As the sun finally relinquishes into the night, they give each other a quick hug before waving goodbye. They get on their bikes and cycle to their respective houses. Richie reaches his home fairly quickly. Inside, he realizes the house is empty. _Must be going out_ Richie thinks to himself as he plods upstairs to his bedroom. He lays on his bed and pulls his covers on top of him. Closing his eyes, his consciousness starts to drift away before sleep consumes him.


	2. Flower End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyaaaa! The second (and final) chapter is here! Thank you for all the support every single on o y'all have given for the fic. It really puts a pep in my step and motivates me to write even more for you all!
> 
> Update: We've reached 50 kudos recently! I cannot be grateful enough for all the lovely people who read through this and had the time and care to press a button. Your love fuels me to create more! I love y'all!

Richie was standing in an infinite black. He scanned the space - to no avail. There was nothing here. Nothing except himself. He started walking; then it developed into a jog; then a run. He didn’t know what he was running from or to - he just knew he had to keep moving. Stopping in his steps, he furrows his brow as a silhouette came into view. 

The figure was lying down, still and stiff. As he got closer, he started recognizing features from the figure. Large, square glasses were tacked on its eyes; an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt was draped over a ruffled white tee; long, scruffy jeans covered the body’s skinny legs. He kept walking closer until he was practically towering over the body.

Flowers.

Aconitums covered the body’s face and were littered everywhere. Curiosity gets the better of him as he kneels down and brushes away the flowers. His blood runs cold as he sees his face - cheeks pale, eyes glazed over, and mouth filled to the brim with petals. He lets out a scream - or at least he tries to. Instead, all he gets is a gargling noise before his throat constricts. The same flowers start flooding the ground at a worrying pace. Dark circles appear at the edge of his vision as his lungs overflow with petals -restricting his breath. All he can think about is ‘Eddie’ as he loses consciousness, falling to the ground.

Richie’s eyes snap open as he jolts awake - hands slick in a cold sweat. He takes a deep yet ragged breath, relishing in the oxygen he’s able to inhale before he goes to turn on the bedside lamp. Wanting to check what hour he was awoken at, he sends a hurried glance towards the wall clock.

**01:15**

Sighing, he turns the lights back off before draping a blanket over him. The image of his flower-ridden corpse is fresh in his mind as he tries to go back to sleep.

*

Eddie knew something was wrong with Richie the second he saw him that school morning. The normally high-energy and hyper-focused boy had arrived looking like he hadn’t got a wink of sleep the prior night. Deep bags occupied the boy’s eyes; hair a frizzy mess, more than usual. The interactions he had with the boy seemed to lack any of the Tozier brand charm. Everything about him contradicted his friend’s normal demeanor - and that worried him. Though it seemed he wasn’t the only one who seemed to think so.

The Losers - excluding Mike, had all noticed their friend’s condition that day. Both Bill and Ben confronted the boy separately, asking what was wrong. The only response they got in return was an _I’m fine, don’t worry about it guys._ with a seemingly forced smile. Realizing they weren’t going to get a clear answer, they discuss it at lunch - which Richie wasn’t present in.

“I think Eddie should talk to him.” Stan chimes into the conversation, glancing at the hypochondriacal boy.

Eddie points a finger to himself, looking confused. “Me? Why?”

“You know him best, don’t you? If anyone’s gonna make him comfortable enough to talk about his problems, it’s going to be you.” Stan points out, a solemn expression plastered on his face.

He’s ready to argue - but the entirety of the Losers seemed to unanimously agree, so that plan is scrapped. He lets out a long sigh before making a defeated face. 

“I guess I’m doing it.”

And that’s how Eddie finds himself outside the Tozier house, hand raised, ready to bring it down on to the oak door. Though it seems he doesn’t need to when he realizes the door doesn’t appear to be locked - or even closed.

“Classic Richie, being so reckless,” Eddie mutters to nobody in particular as he pushes the door open, letting himself in. His first thought is to check Richie’s bedroom on the first floor. Knocking the door, he slowly opens it - revealing a fairly unilluminated room. He grasps for the light switch, having somewhat remembering its location after countless visits to this very place. When he finally finds it and presses it, the room lights up - revealing the chaotic and messy state the room was in. Blankets seemingly just tossed onto the bed without a single care; dirty clothes were strewn across the floor with no rhyme or reason. The whole room just screamed of negligence.

His train of thought is cut short when a noise hits his ears - seeming to come from outside. He leaves the room, wanting to investigate. The noise gets more audible as he gets closer to the foot of the stairs. With each step he takes, the clearer the noise sounds, and it’s clear that what he’s hearing is a sob. When he reaches the top of the steps, he’s met with a pile of red columbines outside the bathroom door - the source of the noises, he deducts.

Slowly opening the door, he catches sight of Richie - crumpled on the floor looking more disheveled and worse for wear than earlier this morning. Marigolds and yellow carnations practically flood the bathroom tile. His brain turns into panic mode as he rushes over to his friend.

“What the hell, Richie?” Eddie asks, looking concerned. He fervently attempts to catch the boy’s attention, before realizing what’s happening.

“Shit. Must be a panic attack.” Eddie mutters to himself. He attempts to coax Richie out of it, rubbing circles onto his back and whispering words of encouragement - to no avail. He feels the force from his friend being wracked by sobs on his chest. Reaching into his fanny pack, he pulls out his spare inhaler. He lifts the boy’s head and meekly tries to insert the tool.

“C’mon, Rich. Please.” Eddie begs to his friend, distress in his voice.

There’s a pause before Richie takes the object in his mouth and inhales. Eddie pushes down the top - releasing the medicine into the boy’s lungs.

He hears his friend gasp before inhaling deeply. He sighs in relief as he props him up. 

“E-Eds? What are you doing here?” Richie asks, coarsely.

“You looked like shit at school, so I went to check on you, asshole,” Eddie answers, furrowing his brow. “Why are there flowers around you?”

Richie bites the bottom of his lip. “Would you believe me if I said I just brought them here?” 

“Richie this is-” Eddie hesitates before continuing. “This is Flower Disease, isn’t it?”

Richie tenses - staying silent. The lack of response confirms his suspicion and his face contorts into something of fear.

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, solemnly.  
“I’m so sorry, Eddie Spaghetti. I must have fallen in love with your mom, you know how beautiful she is.” Richie jokingly answers, a forced smile plastered on his face

“Shut the fuck up, Richie!” Eddie starts, raising his voice. “This isn’t time for jokes, this is serious!”

Richi’s smile falters as something glints in the corner of his eye.

Tears.

Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, the most headstrong person he knows, is letting out tears. He’d be shocked if he wasn’t rushing to his friend, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m s-sorry, Eds.” Richie gasps out in between sobs, sounding hysterical. “I-It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“Hey, buddy. C’mon, calm down.” Eddie speaks in a soft tone, brushing. He isn’t fully handled to deal with a situation like this, but for Richie, he’ll try.

No matter what he tries, Richie doesn’t seem to be calming down - at all. Panic creeps down his spine as he starts sweating. He doesn’t know what to do, and that scares him. Usually, he’s the most level-headed and rational member of their group. But nothing’s rational about what’s happening. An idea pops in his head. It’s a stupid, horrible idea, but anything is better than nothing. He takes a deep breath before lifting the boy’s chin.

He presses his lips against Richie’s.

He can taste a tinge of sweet, but that’s all there is. Richie’s eyes go wide - realizing what’s happening - before pulling away.

Eddie panics for a moment, thinking that Richie must have been revolted with the boy. That thought is quickly thrown out the window when he pulls Eddie back into a kiss of his own - and he returns it. They stay there, lips interlocked with each other and arms in a loving embrace.

They pull out of each other’s grasps before Richie says something, a goofy smile plastered on his face. “I love you, Eds.”

“I love you too, Richie,” Eddie responds, lacing his fingers with his loved other.

Richie coughs out a single purple lilac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I have a discord in case you wanted to talk to me, my tag there is Bread#6010! Before I cut off this Author's Note, I have a gift for a special friend who helped me in the development of this chapter! (You know who you are.)
> 
> *
> 
> Sweetness rivals that of sugar cane and mangoes
> 
> I’m grateful, your support is priceless
> 
> Oasis in this dry, unforgiving desert
> 
> Pragmatic always, looking out for me
> 
> Amicable and admirable, I think you’re both
> 
> Overly-caring, but never overbearing


End file.
